Irreplaceable
by misslizzie1204
Summary: Booth and Brennan argue over something close to their hearts, but will their difference of opinion result in disaster mere hours later? Now upgraded to a three-parter!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, really, zilch**

Brennan sat studiously at her desk, rapidly typing her latest report that was due for submission that afternoon. Although she did not notice it, her fingers slammed down upon the keys with aggressive fervour, and her eyes glared down the computer screen as though it had deeply offended her in some irrevocable manner. What she did notice, however, was the pounding headache throbbing between her temples, and the acute ache which twinged in her lower back with every movement, which had its origins in the many hours she had spent bending over a particularly rotten corpse during the course of the day. With bleary eyes she began to read over her writing, hoping to finish with enough time to slip in a few hours of much-needed sleep before a charity ball she was attending that evening with Booth. But, by just looking at her work she came to the conclusion: sleep and the period of that afternoon were about as far from each other as calcium carbonate and camembert.

Simultaneously, Booth was sitting in his own office, before his own computer, trying to finish his report of the same case. He was having just as much success as his partner. The difference between them was that, instead of taking his frustration out on the keyboard, Booth was taking it out on an ill-timed Dr Sweets who had happened, by unfortunate circumstance, to come in search of some minute details for his upcoming book. All it took was one sentence containing the phrases 'war zone', 'troubled past' and 'future repercussions', before Booth's defences rose, and his fatigue from a long week of casework made his replies short and snappy.

Within five minutes Booth was storming out of his office leaving a quaking Sweets in his wake, and attracting many a curious glance from his co-workers in the building. He hardly noticed, merely continuing to head straight to the first place of refuge he thought of: Brennan's office.

Brennan's eyes flicked up from her screen when the door to her office flew open, but when she recognised Booth as the unannounced visitor she quickly turned back to her work. Peripherally, she followed his form crossing the room until it collapsed unceremoniously upon her couch, and after finishing her sentence she raised her eyes to look at her intruder. A flicker of concern flashed in her mind seeing Booth's somewhat disrupted countenance, but further inspection of his features told her he was showing more of the emotion she recognised as anger and frustration than any true angst.

'Is something the matter, Booth?' Brennan inwardly winced at how harsh her voice had made the question, but she was tired and impatient to finish her work, and hence decided that niceties were just a bit beyond her reach at that point in time.  
'Just...' Booth broke off with a sigh, running a hand through his short dark hair, 'it's nothing.'  
'Something is obviously bothering you, if not just for the simple fact you didn't offer a greeting when you entered my office.' Booth gazed at her for a long moment, before letting out another angry sigh and rising to his feet once again.

'Dr Sweets just came in to my office, asking about my sniper days _again_. He just doesn't seem to understand that I_ don't want _to talk about it...' Booth quickly caught himself- hearing his voice rising and his anger beginning to boil once again, he took a quick breath before continuing on in a more controlled manner, 'I guess he came asking the wrong questions at the wrong time, and I just had to get out of there.'

Brennan looked thoughtfully across her desk at the man now aimlessly perusing her bookshelf, a slight frown tweaking her brow.  
'Well,' she stated in a rather objective tone, 'you do have a tendency to clam down about these things...'  
'Clam up, Bones. The phrase is "clam up"' Booth automatically corrected the colloquialism, but a slight frown was now darkening his eyes at the insinuation of the statement. He had thought that Bones, of all people, would understand the longing to forget the painful memories of his past- or at least a decent level of privacy in regard to them.

'Yes, that. You aren't really all that forthcoming with the information, so perhaps if you had just told Dr Sweets what he had wanted to know in the first place you wouldn't be in this situation.' Some small voice in the back of Brennan's head set off alarm bells as soon as the words passed over her lips, giving her a moment's warning before Booth turned to her with a disbelieving anger contorting his generally pleasant features.  
'What do you mean, tell him what he wants to know? I don't even _think_ about that time if I can help it, let alone talk about it to anyone! And you really aren't one to talk; you haven't exactly been _forthcoming _about your past either, especially towards Sweets.'

'Sweets has been able to find out things about my past through its detailed documentation with the foster program that I was in. As I don't have the luxury of being able to protect my privacy, I haven't needed to disclose any further information.' Brennan's voice had suddenly become icily cold, and she instinctively rose to her feet to remove the insecurity of being lower than her unexpectedly confrontational visitor.

'Since you are so resentful of having your privacy breached I would have believed you would understand how much I hate having my own affairs examined by a bunch of doctors!'  
'I just find it hardly fair if, in a book written about the pair of us, that my personal details should be considered or included and yours not. If your past isn't as accessible as mine, that is hardly my fault.'

'The reason half my past is inaccessible is because it's _classified. _The world is not supposed to know about what I did, the..._horrible _things I was made to carry out. What if my son sees this book? How do you expect me to explain that to him? There is a very, very good reason I don't talk about my past, Brennan, and I am hardly going to break that rule because you find yourself to be bitter that your life story is that much more publicised than mine!'

Somehow the pair had gravitated closer and closer until they were almost nose to nose, each glaring at their opponent with fierce eyes full of conviction and passion. At Booth's last statement, Brennan furiously opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a word Booth held up his hands and stepped away.

'Look, we obviously aren't in the right mindset to talk about this now. I'm going to leave before either of us says anything damaging.' Somehow this seemed to kindle Brennan's fury, and she yelled at Booth's retreating back.  
'No! I demand that you stay and explain yourself!' Booth paused at the doorway, and turned back to face Brennan. She could see the incredulous disbelief that she had just ordered him to stay in her office, but could also see a patronising glean in his eye, showing that he could read her emotionally, and knew exactly how to deal with her. At that very moment, there was nothing that could have irritated Brennan more.  
'Good afternoon, Temperance.' And with one last glance, he exited the office and swiftly walked away down the hall, with his angry strides echoing around him.  
'No! Booth, no!' Brennan cried after him, her outrage at his comments still flaring inside her, she dashed to the door. Just as she reached it, however, she saw him turning out the exit, and the doors slide closed behind him. Brennan stood, frozen still, for a moment, before she angrily slammed her office door, retreating back into the solitude. Instead of returning to her report, however, she sank onto her couch. She was sure that, for the one occasion, Cam wouldn't mind her report being a bit behind schedule. Flopping down on to the pillows she raised a hand to her now positively painful head, trying to calm her fuming brain down enough to allow for sleep.

**Sorry if the fight sounded a bit ridiculous/ooc, but I wanted to write about something that could easily be resolved by the end of the fanfic, so i attribute all ooc-ness to fatigue (on both the character's and my behalf ;))  
**

**I'm basing this off a movie I've seen recently, but I don't want to spoil the plot for people who don't know where this is going yet by naming it right now. But if you can guess which film it is, I shall present you with a virtual cookie :)**

**And just out of interest, who do you think is right? Booth, for wanting his privacy respected, or Brennan, for wanting equal levels of representation in the book?  
**

**Despite the fact it does not look so now, this will be EPIC B/B. Rejoice!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here be chapter 2 :)  
And here be my claimer of the dis variety: the characters etc are not mine, regretably **

Booth sat in the cab, feeling somewhat superfluous, but nonetheless heading towards Brennan's apartment block. After he had stormed out of her office, desperately trying to quash his anger before either one of them did something they regretted, he had gone straight home. He had recognised the goal of finishing his report that afternoon as a lost cause, and figured that he would be better off tackling the charity ball that evening well rested instead of attempting the impossible. He had therefore whittled away the remainder of the afternoon snoozing in front of the television, before going to collect his suit from the dry cleaner down the street. He had proceeded to take a long shower, all the while mulling over the stupid argument.

He knew now, retrospectively, that it was a mere product of sleeplessness and resentment towards a lack of privacy in their lives. Brennan had basically her entire life on display, be it in dusty records of her past stashed in a Child Service's office, or splashed across the internet for her adoring fans to see. He lived with his heart on his sleeve, which suited him just fine, but there were some things that he made sure were never on display. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew Sweets was eventually going to draw out of him what he wanted to know, and he resented that strongly. Grudgingly, he could understand how Brennan felt it to be unfair; for her, privacy had never been an option, so in her logical mind she found it unjust that it was for him. But that insight had been beyond him in Bones' office, and he internally winced as he sharply remembered the details.

'_I don't talk about my past, Brennan...' _Booth hadn't even noticed that he had reverted coldly away from his partner's nickname until he stalked down the hall towards the exit. At the time, he couldn't bring himself to care, but now... with a deep sigh, Booth tried to turn his thoughts away from the implications that it was sure to bring about. He noticed the cab had turned down Brennan's street, and after the driver pulled over at the curb Booth passed him the fare and stepped out onto the street. He stopped short, however, at the sight before him.

Directly opposite the door to Brennan's apartment building was an extravagant, open-topped carriage. Two grey horses were tethered to the front, and the elaborate crest of the charity ball's main sponsor adorned the side. To complete the picture, a driver dressed in tails and a top hat sat holding the reins, patiently looking down at Booth with a slightly knowing smile.  
'Mr Booth?' Booth gave a slow nod, still raking his eyes over the shiny black carriage before him.  
'A Ms Brennan came down when I arrived, asking me that if a man responding to that name were to appear, to instruct you to wait in the carriage for her. She should be down,' the man drew a gold pocket watch from his top pocket and glanced at its face, 'momentarily.'

Booth nodded again, and obediently stepped up into the carriage when the driver opened the door for him. He slowly sat upon the smooth leather seat, hardly believing the extravagance.  
'So how do you know Ms Brennan? Are you together?'  
'No.' Booth winced at how abrupt that response sounded. 'I mean, no, I work with her. We solve cases for the FBI.'  
'But she's an author too, no? That's why she was invited to the ball tonight?'  
'Yeah, that's right.'  
'She must really like you to ask you along. This thing promises to be spectacular.'

His heart sunk with guilt. Of all the days to get into a petty argument, he had to choose the one where she was shouting him a night in luxurious glamour, just because she could. Just because it was him. He mentally shook himself; just because she was offering to take him tonight, it didn't make her right. He decided then that he was going to play tonight by ear; let Brennan take the lead, and gauge his reactions by her manner towards him.

Fiddling with his bright red tie, Booth continued to wait as inconspicuously as possible, and avoided raising his eyes to the curious passers-by until he heard the door to the apartment block swing open, and recognised her voice as the one thanking the doorman. Despite his current mood towards her, Booth could not deny her beauty. She wore a deep, navy dress that cascaded in waves of chiffon and silk to the ground, the bodice the only part that hugged her petite figure. Her neck was adorned with a necklace so studded with diamonds he knew it was worth more than a year's salary of his, and her hair was twisted into elegant curls that rested in pristine formation around her face. The only part of the image that looked out of place was the sudden scowl that darkened her perfectly made up features when her eyes fell upon Booth. She approached the carriage and accepted the proffered hand of the driver to step up and take her seat.

'There is no need for you to be here.' She said in a clipped tone as the carriage pulled away from the curb. She sat stiffly next to her partner, staring directly out towards the front, not once making eye contact with Booth. He inwardly sighed; somewhere inside he had hoped that she may have thought over the fight, and at least cooled her temper like he had. Despite his optimism, he was also prepared in case she still held on to her anger, and automatically spurted out his response to her rejection.  
'I made a commitment to you. I said I was coming, and I intend to go through with that promise.' Brennan made no response, and as she did not make the driver pull the carriage over, Booth assumed that she found herself, willingly or not, agreeing with his statement. Her outright bitterness towards him roused the resentment inside him once more however, and he turned his head away to look out the side of the carriage.

Booth idly allowed his eyes to wander, observing as they turned off the main road into a large park, in which he could distantly see the large mansion that was to be their destination. They travelled along a wide gravel path, attracting the curious gaze of many that they passed. Somehow, despite his mood, he found himself to be enjoying the ride. A small smile twitched his lips as a little girl stared wide-eyed up at them, and when he waved- causing her to run giggling back to her mother, he began to smile in earnest. Turning his head to observe the other side of the carriage, Booth noticed Brennan's enduringly stony expression.  
'Come on, Bones, at least smile. Anyone would think we'd been fighting.' He rolled his eyes as he spoke, but continued to observe the milling people around them. They were nearing the main drive now, and there were a small gathering of people collected at the gate. Booth glanced to his side, a slight ripple in the crowd drawing his eye.

It then seemed as though everything he saw was moving in slow motion.

There was a man, dressed in nondescript clothes, with equally unremarkable features, who was shoving his way through the assemblage. As he pushed complaining bystanders away with his left arm, he was withdrawing his right hand from the depths of his jacket. Clasped in his spindly, thin fingers was a black revolver, his thumb already releasing the safety on the back, his index finger curled around the trigger. He stretched his arm, his aim deadly accurate, directly at Brennan.

Booth's arm reflexively shot out, colliding with Brennan's slim shoulder and shoving her down. She gave a surprised cry, and he caught a glimpse of confusion and surprise in her eyes as she was forced down towards the safety of the floor. He threw his body out as he heard the ringing bang of the gunshot, still forcing Brennan down, his objective to keep her safe greatly outstripping his sense of self preservation. With satisfaction he saw Brennan drop out of the range of the gunman, below the side of the carriage wall. But, although he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it, Booth knew he moved that bit too slowly to save himself as well as his partner, a millisecond before the bullet buried itself in his right shoulder. The force flung Booth backwards, towards the hard carriage floor. In his reeling vision he saw suited guards bolting from their positions at the gate, throwing themselves at the gunman. Faces blurred past as he continued to fall, contorted with fear, mouths agape as piercing screams escaped into the night air. Voices were yelling, a horse shrieked in terror, the sounds growing in an unbearable crescendo. There were horrible sounds of agony and fear all around him, it seemed, but after an auditory climax of intolerable noise, everything faded to darkness.

There were many witnesses of the next ten minutes, each with a slightly varied tale to tell. Some say the driver urged the horses up the drive, before bundling the injured man into the mansion. Others distinctly remember seeing him half carried, half dragged up the gravel drive, blood splattering across the pebbles as he went. A third party swore on the bottle of vodka clutched in his shaking hands that a giant octopus had come and eaten the carriage whole, but the police had politely thanked him for his input before dismissing everything he had said. The one thing, however, that was consistent in every story, was what was said of the man's companion. The woman, in the navy gown, her hair tumbling out of place, her ivory skin stark white in the moonlight. No matter whether it came from the terrified little girl observing from behind a tree, or from the middle-aged jogger who had rapidly called for the ambulance, every account was identical.

Her stance, that had been poised and collected as she was chauffeured up the drive, had lost all composure as she ran alongside her companion. Her cheeks, previously rosy from the cool breeze twirling through the night air, were paled almost to the state of transparency. Her features, just moments before so full of tranquillity and oozing self confidence, were a picture of pure horror. You could read every agonising thought running through her mind, her eyes a clear window into her collapsing world. Her face was utterly distraught, as she followed the driver hauling his unconscious body up the marble stairs towards the mansion. Her hands reached for him, longing to help, but she daren't touch the arm that was so horrible disfigured, in case she caused further damage.

Each account of the events always concluded with a description of this manner, some more eloquent than others, but all sadly detailing this one woman's distress. And no matter which version of events was right, which infinitesimal detail was correct, it was this one haunting description that would stay with all involved for as long as the memory existed.

**Now that there is some more plot substance which resembles the movie I'm modelling this after, can anyone guess where its from?  
Shall Booth survive?  
You shall see, in chapter three *giggles at unintentional rhyme***


	3. Chapter 3

**Yes well this has been a long time coming...*sigh* i feel like i never have any time to write any more. poor excuse, i know, but i promise you it is legitimate**

**But do please enjoy the third and final installment of my torturing of Booth- for the benefit of our inner romantics, i assure you :)**

Brennan stood, her arms hugging around her waist, and her lip pinched between anxious teeth as she observed the doctor working. Her hair had tumbled into a maelstrom of tangled curls, and her intricate makeup had begun to smudge, but her appearance was the furthest thought from her mind. Her eyes were trained on the bed with unwavering concentration, but the ornate drapery surrounding it was obscuring her vision.

The bed was elaborate as they were currently in one of the spare rooms of Kirilly Lodge, the large mansion that was to house that night's ball, and the place they had relocated to after the incident. The driver of the carriage, Horace, once he had realised what the commotion around his passengers was caused by, had spurred his horses up the drive. The horses, however, were spooked by the loud noises and panicking people refused to move more than a few frantic paces, prompting Horace to leap from his seat and heave Booth's body from the floor of the carriage and carry his staggering form up the pebbled path. His feet had slipped across the unsteady surface, but adrenalin fuelled strength within him that he barely knew he possessed, and somehow they reached the impossibly large wooden front door.

Stunned silence had filled the marble ballroom when a carriage driver and gowned dinner guest had stumbled inside, half dragging the body of an unconscious and copiously bleeding man between them. There was a moment of complete silence, when every eye in the room stared in utter shock at the scene before them. Then a glass was dropped, crystal shattering, the tinkling cacophonously breaking the silence. An uproar of voices had filled the room. Men dashed forward to help shoulder the weight of the horrifically injured man, throwing their dinner jackets aside as they ran. A woman in towering heels ran past, somehow keeping upright despite her speed. She had barely pulled the heavy doors open when another man skidded into the marble ballroom. The lady grabbed his hand and pulled him over to where Booth was being supported by three of the other guests, whom he quickly instructed the men to carry the body out into the hall. As the whining of the ambulance siren could be faintly heard in the distance, Booth was swiftly swept from the room. Brennan was half a step behind him, her heartbroken gaze trailing around the room, searching for some comfort she knew that she would never find. Seeing the horrified, sickened or, most shatteringly, sympathetic faces of the unfamiliar guests of the ball was sufficient to break down any of the hope that Brennan had left in her slowly shattering heart, and she quickly stepped from the room. She tripped and stumbled hastily after the procession of dinner guests down a long, regal passageway, before the authoritative man directed her into one of the adjacent bedrooms.

Booth had been laid down upon the plain white sheets that covered an antique bed frame to protect it from dust, the starched material highlighting his pale countenance. Brennan stood in the doorway, her face aghast, her hand hovering in front of her mouth, trembling with adrenalin and fear. She watched, trying desperately to compartmentalise, to separate herself from the situation and prevent the pain from overwhelming her. She gulped down breaths of air as they removed his dinner jacket, and tore open his shirt. Slowly she moved further into the room, settling against an ornate dresser directly opposite the bed. Her eyes were trained upon the body on the bed, but she remained still, as though she were a part of the carvings in the deep mahogany woodwork. Moments later three men garbed in pale green scrubs burst through the doorway, led by one of the tuxedoed guests. Two of the paramedics sped to Booth's side, while a third spoke in a solemn undertone to the authoritative man who had led them to the room. Moments later, the others in the room began to leave. Brennan stayed deftly where she was. The doctors gave her one glance, saw the cool determination on her face, and the solitary pearlescent tear resting upon her cheek, and they knew that she was not going to be moved.

So she had stayed, her arms wrapped around her waist, as the medics had clinically carried out their tasks. They worked in silence, with the one exception being a discussion on whether or not to move Booth to a hospital. It was decided against, for at least the next few hours, as he was stable but fragile, and their work was able to be done to a satisfactory degree from where they were. Several trips were made between the room and their ambulance, to supply the doctors with what they needed to complete their work.

The minutes trickled by with painful lethargy, the medical procedures seeming to take eons to be completed. It was over two hours later when they finally began to step away from Booth's prone body. One by one they gathered the tools of their trade, and silently left the room. The last doctor to leave was the most senior among the men, and paused beside Brennan before he stepped from the room.  
'There is nothing more we can do here. Mr Booth needs rest; once he has regained some strength and stabilised a little more, we shall take him to the nearest hospital for further treatment.' The man looked grave but satisfied, and with a solitary nod he also left the room, pulling the ornate door closed behind him.

Brennan slowly turned her eyes down to her partner across the room, taking a tentative step closer. But then she saw his head turn, his weak gaze connect with hers, and suddenly she was running across the short distance between them. She carefully, ever so carefully, clambered onto the bed beside him, waves of chiffon swirling across her legs as she allowed Booth to wrap his good arm around her to pull her close. A stifled sob escaped from between her lips as she ran her hands across his face, his chest; she was desperate for contact to prove that he was truly okay.

'I'm so sorry,' she choked in hushed tones, 'I thought I was going to lose you.' Her head bowed against his shoulder. He gently rubbed his hand up and down her trembling back.  
'I don't think he was a very good shot.' His intention was joking, but his voice was weak and raspy. Brennan shook her head, torn with relief and anger and confusion.  
'Why did you do it? You're so stupid, why did you do it?' Booth tilted his head and pressed a kiss against Brennan's temple.  
'I had two very good reasons. First, I am replaceable and you are not.' Brennan's blue eyes brimmed with horror, and pressed her hand against his strong jaw.  
'You are not replaceable to me…' she murmured, staring with shining, wide eyes down upon the man before her. He gave a tiny smile, pushing a loose ringlet behind her ear before continuing.

'Second, you are the only Bones I've got, or ever will have.' He took a deep sigh, before returning her searching gaze with determined fervour.  
'You are my whole existence and…and I will love you until my last breath.' The hands that Brennan had been subconsciously tracing across Booth's chest froze in place, her lips slightly parted from shock. A tear which had been welling in the corner of her eye suddenly spilled over, dripping from her cheek onto Booth's. Booth stayed perfectly still, feeling the shock rolling off the woman beside him in waves, and not wanting to spook her any further.

She stayed still for a long time, and Booth could practically hear her mind whirring as she tried to compartmentalise this concept that was so very unable to be contained within one of the neat facets of her mind. And still he waited. He ignored the ache trying to consume his body and mind, ignored the burn in his shoulder as the anaesthetic began to lose some of its potency. And then she moved. Slowly, very slowly, her rigid form relaxed. She melted down against his substantial chest, and Booth gave an audible sigh of relief. He pressed another kiss into her hair, a small smile relaxing his pain-ridden features.

He had never been one to believe the deathbed-inspired epiphanies, priding himself on living the life he wanted rather than holding things off. But with this one, unexpected threat to his life he had realised that his life philosophy had one gaping omission. Used to have one, he corrected himself with another small smile, as he gazed down at the pale face of his distressed partner. Allowing the drowsiness nagging at his mind to consume him, Booth drooped further into the pillows. He could feel Brennan curling up more comfortably beside him, and almost chuckled when he felt her skim a hand across his forehead and down his cheek. But then he felt her lips gently brush against his jaw, and felt her lower her head to his shoulder, and was overcome with a feeling of wellbeing unlike any he had felt before. So, with these warm feelings of contentment soothing his aching and pains, Booth slowly drifted into sleep, finally happy with his arm around his irreplaceable Bones.

**as i mentioned early on in this story, this was based from a few scenes of a lovely movie i've watched...and if you haven't guessed by now, it was 'The Young Victoria' with Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend  
i'd highly recommend this movie to anyone, its quite well done, just a bit of a period romance for you if youre into that kind of thing :)**

**Thankyou very much for reading! **


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